Three's A Crowd
by amidoh
Summary: There's Malik, who was bored and decided to seduce Ryou. There's Bakura, who doesn't like Malik touching his property. And there's Ryou, the innocent one stuck in the middle. MalikxRyouxBakura angsty slash.
1. Chapter I

Disclaimer: cries no matter how much I offer for them, I still don't own any characters in this story.

---

**Chapter 1: Inclinations _or_ Malik's Guide to Seduction**

Ryou. Ryou, Ryou, Ryou. No matter how many times Malik said that name to himself, it would always sound better every time. There was something deliciously enticing about a boy so innocent and naïve, and Malik wanted him. In the lilac-eyed one's opinion, Bakura, Ryou's yami, was simply not good enough for the boy.

It wasn't that Malik was in need of attention, or wanted someone to care for him. No, he was long past the stage of pining for a lover, and now only wanted Ryou so he could manipulate that innocence, tease it round his fingers and enjoy watching the boy fall deeper and deeper into his control.

First, however, the prey must be captured, and it was much easier to do that while Bakura was not watching, or, if there was no way that the tanned teen could shake the yami off, then he would have to make sure that the spirit could not intervene. Through careful observation, Malik noticed, the best times to do this were when Ryou was walking home from school, as Bakura usually waited in the house for him.

Malik planned first to teach Ryou some things; things that he was sure Bakura could not ever do to the boy. That would render the quiet one well and truly helpless under his control. His first lesson came in the very clothes he was wearing: revealing, kinky, with an underlying tone of hidden danger.

Yes. Malik was wearing his black leather slut pants.

They were the very same ones that he had worn on Kaiba's blimp, though perhaps slung a little lower, along with the very same too-small-by-half lilac hooded top. The outfit was suitable, and yet not too pushy. It wouldn't do to scare poor, innocent Ryou away before they had even started.

The blonde padded silently in circles in the narrow alley, every now and again glancing at the gates of the school, wondering when his prey would venture out. It was long past the end of the school day, he thought irately as he absentmindedly kicked a can. Where the hell was the pale-haired teenager?

And then, as if on cue, Ryou strolled out of the school, walking quite quickly, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. Malik allowed himself a sneer as his eyes followed his prey's progress, Ryou drawing closer... and closer... so close...

With one lightening action, Malik's hand shot out and grabbed Ryou's wrist, dragging the pale-haired one in to the alley. Before Ryou could even manage a "huh?" of confusion, Malik's hand was clamped firmly over his mouth.

Malik waited a few seconds to let Ryou's eyes stop rolling wildly in their sockets before removing his hand and, using only his strong arms, with no push up from the ground, hoisted himself up on to the dumpster that resided in the alleyway. As his back was arched against the large plastic obstacle, his pants slipped lower down his navel, exposing his lean, tanned stomach a little more.

He could hear Ryou gasp slightly without even turning to look at the other boy. Inwardly, he smiled – this had been made so much easier by the fact that Ryou had not fled when released, as the Egyptian had expected him to, but rather seemed to be rooted to the spot.

"Why have you not left, Ryou?" He asked idly, leaning back on his elbows and watching the paler teen, his stomach tantalizingly naked, with a promise of more lying beneath the loosely slung black belt with its heavy silver buckles which lay around the tight leather of his trousers.

"I – How do you know my name?" The British boy responded, backing away one fearful step.

"I know a lot about you, Ryou." Malik purred. So far, everything was going to plan. "I know about Bakura, for instance. I know that he's not good enough for you. I know that you deserve more."

"What do you mean?" Ryou asked quietly, freezing to stand perfectly still, his round, wide brown eyes staring at the Egyptian boy. He couldn't say why, but the sight of this stranger in his revealing clothes with his svelte body and intense, lilac eyes was making him feel quite hot on his neck.

"I like you, Ryou." Malik let himself slide down from the dumpster, landing almost noiselessly on the tarmac of the alley. "I like you a lot."

"Um... thanks." The white-haired teenager smiled nervously, taking one small pace backwards as Malik advanced softly, his back bumping against the opposite wall. He swallowed and watched the platinum blonde. "Um... I have to go. I have promised my friend I'd meet him and I'm already running late."

"Why not stay here with me, then?" Malik purred, bearing down on Ryou. In a smirk-like grin, the Egyptian showed a tiny flash of his white teeth. "If you're already late, surely he won't mind you being a little later?"

"Um... I don't think... I really have to go!" Ryou straightened up away from Malik, who was slightly shorter than he was. The other teen's head was uncomfortably close to his and yet... and yet... there was some feeling inside him, a feeling very deep inside that told him he wanted to be closer.

"If I can't change your mind..." Again the unnerving smirk from the flaxen haired boy, one of his bronze-coloured hands moving up to teasingly cup Ryou's chin. "At least let me give you something to part with."

Ryou's eyes, if it was possible, only widened more, as, with a tiny inhalation on his behalf, he felt Malik's lips brush against his own.

"Delicious..." Malik breathed in what might almost be called a sneer, pulling himself away from Ryou to view the snowy haired one's reactions. The British boy was frozen in place, blinking quite rapidly and trembling at the knees.

"Wh-whuh?" Ryou managed at last, incoherently, but Malik had already dissolved into the shadows.

---

Ryou staggered out of the alley and continued the walk home in a state of perpetual confusion. Who was the tanned, strangely beautiful boy who had just kissed him? Why did a feeling deep inside him tell him that he _knew_ who the boy was? What did he want, and what did he mean by "I like you"...? Ryou had a fleeting suspicion and the results he arrived at caused a pink tinge to appear on his pale cheeks in a flush – surely he wasn't that desirable?

And there was one other confusing thing – just what had the stranger meant when he said Bakura wasn't good enough? Ryou knew that he and Bakura were just yami and hikari – was this new person suggesting that Bakura wasn't good enough as a yami?

"I'm back!" He called out as he opened the door to his home, dumping his bag in the corridor and listening for the footsteps of his other.

"About time!" A rather impatient voice snapped as Bakura appeared at the top of the stairs. Ryou was unfazed by the apparent churlishness of the other teenager, knowing that it was Bakura's way of disguising his feelings. "Where have you been?"

"Oh..." the British boy tried to shrug nonchalantly. "I was held up on the way home by some guy."

"Did he hurt you?" Bakura was by Ryou's side in an instant, his eyes flashing dangerously. Ryou smiled.

"No, he just talked at me." The teenager shuddered inwardly, remembering the brushing kiss and feeling it would be wisest to not mention it to Bakura. He wasn't sure, but it seemed that something inside him was telling him he wanted... more?

"What about?" The tomb-robber's voice was a growl next to Ryou's ear.

"I dunno, I didn't really listen." Ryou smiled and turned his head round to Bakura. "Now leave off, will you? I have homework to do!"

"You're so boring!" Bakura rolled his eyes and looked skywards in despair, but thankfully left the chuckling Ryou, prowling back upstairs to continue whatever he had been doing when the other teen arrived back home. The strange and ever-so-slightly haunting boy from earlier was pasted in front of his eyes, mostly when he blinked, the sneers and laughter, though ringing tauntingly through his ears, seemed to be calling to him.

He wanted more. He had to go back.

---

Malik hadn't originally meant to wait for Ryou again, feeling that the white-haired teenager wouldn't risk walking the same way home again for a while, but there was something inside that compelled him to just give it a try and, maybe, hope against hope, he would again come strolling down that alley.

Once again, it was long past the end of the school day. The platinum-blonde had kept a keen eye on the school gates, and, not seeing Ryou appear, had given up and was now laying back at ease on the dumpster, the cool breeze chilling his bare stomach.

Then, as though from a dream, came soft footsteps. Malik almost fell off the trash receptacle in surprise. Hardly anyone came down this way; it was quite sleazy and derelict, even for an alleyway. Could that possibly be Ryou, back for more?

The Egyptian steadied himself as the white-haired boy himself strolled into the alley, completely at ease, though his eyes glancing this way and that, warily. Little did Malik know that Ryou had become obsessed with seeing him again, and had thought of little else all day, appearing so vague and unfocused that even his school friends had commented.

"Why did you come back, Ryou?" Malik asked sensuously, materialising next to the British boy's side. "Why didn't you stay away?"

"I wanted to see you again..." Ryou murmured, not intending Malik to hear. Malik's hearing was keener than Ryou anticipated, however, and he heard every syllable, loud and clear.

"Why?" He breathed, one hand creeping up to toy with the snowy hair in front of him, causing the owner to shiver. "How can you know I'm not dangerous? You don't know anything about me..."

"You're not dangerous." Ryou said, with such sincere conviction that Malik raised an eyebrow before hearing the other teen's continued reasoning. "If you were dangerous you would have raped me or hurt me yesterday. You were only gentle yesterday."

Malik was stunned at the sheer amount of trust that Ryou was putting in him by uttering those words. If he were evil – if he truly were evil, then he would take Ryou now, while the boy had no defence. However, much against his instincts, he knew he was beginning to slowly fall in love with the open honesty that was Ryou.

"So..." The white-haired wonder began. "Are you going to tell me why you're doing this? Why you sit here waiting for me? Or do I have to guess?"

"Well, since you insist that I tell you..." Malik smirked against Ryou's neck, drawing another shiver out of the teenager. "I want you."

"Well, why don't you just ask me?" Ryou swallowed, hardly believing what he was saying, daring himself to venture further in to the lion's mouth. He had come so far, there was no turning back now... and if this stranger turned out to want to hurt him... "Instead of playing this stupid cat and mouse game, you could have just asked me."

"All right then, Ryou." Malik growled against Ryou's ear, his hands snaking around the other boy's waist to pull him closer. "Will you be mine?"

"I already am..." Ryou groaned as Malik's hot breath rushed across his ear. "I already am..."

"Then I'm going to keep you forever." The platinum-blond teenager hissed and a whimper was torn from Ryou's throat. From that instant, from that one small sound, Malik momentarily lost all control of any bodily action below the waist and ground his hips in to Ryou, who gasped and flinched slightly, impulsively jerking away from Malik's embrace.

The Egyptian let go of Ryou so as not to feel to imposing, and was just about to apologise for his rash actions when a white-haired blur hit him heavily in the chest and he fell to the floor, sobbing for breath, winded.

"Bakura!" The platinum blonde heard Ryou gasp, and, through tear-blurred vision, he saw not one, but two nearly identical white-haired teenagers standing in front of him.

"I followed you home, Ryou." Bakura snarled at his hikari. "I wanted to make sure that this – this _scum_ didn't hold you up again. You were lucky, weren't you?"

"Go away, Bakura. We don't want you here." Malik wheezed, wincing slightly as he rose to his feet, clutching his ribs. The tomb robber was standing protectively in front of Ryou, who was peering round the other teenager curiously.

"I go where I please, Malik." Bakura snapped. Ryou's eyes widened in shock.

"M-Malik?" He asked, stuttering a little. "_The_ Malik? You're Malik?"

"Why do you act so surprised?" Malik asked, eyeing Bakura down warily. He had hoped that it wouldn't come down to himself against Bakura, for one reason, he wasn't quite sure who would win.

"I – I don't know..." Ryou blinked. "I just didn't expect that _the_ Malik would ever want _me_..."

"You admitted it?" Bakura asked, his voice a deadly whisper. "You admitted to my Ryou that you wanted him? You admitted that you wanted to taint his perfection?"

"Yes." Malik spat. "In fact – I'm willing to fight you for him!"

Bakura stared into Malik's eyes coolly.

"I have a better idea, Ishtar." He said at last. "I'll duel you for him. New rules, and 4000 life points. Each player must wager something other than Ryou, something of high value. That'll test whether you really want him or you just want to fuck him!"

Malik digested the thief king's blunt statement.

"Oh, yes?" He replied idly. "And what are you going to wager?"

"My Millennium Ring." Bakura sneered. "You?"

Malik thought for a moment, weighing up the possibilities, Ryou's anxious face peering round Bakura's thin but quite muscular body.

"I'll bet my life."

"Excellent." Bakura smirked. "If you win, you get Ryou and my Millennium Ring, in essence, my soul. But if you lose, you lose your life. It's time to duel."


	2. Chapter II

**Chapter 2: Inferno _or_ How To Give Bakura Apoplexy.**

Malik fell to his knees in shock and disbelief, his pale hair buffeted about his shoulders by the playful wind. He stared unseeingly at Bakura, his shoulders slumped and his deck scattered across the concrete of the alley. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Bakura's gloating smirk.

He had lost the duel.

He had lost Ryou.

And now he was going to lose his life.

It had all been going his way, Bakura was almost out of life points, and he had three monsters on the field... Bakura had played one face down card and a strong zombie-like monster... and then the world had fallen apart. Upon Malik's next attack, Bakura's trap had activated his monster's special ability, automatically destroying Malik's strongest beast. Bakura played a couple more trap cards, activated them and wiped out the Egyptian's remaining life points.

Malik finally averted his eyes from the smirking tomb robber, fixing his stunned gaze firmly on the ground. It wouldn't do for Bakura to see him crying – he didn't want his last moments to show only weakness.

"Oh dear, Malik, it looks like you lost." Bakura sneered, walking over to the prone lilac-eyed teenager. "It was foolish of you to ever think you could take Ryou from me. You shouldn't have made such a high wager. You aren't ready to play with the big boys yet."

Malik glared up at the thief king, who merely smiled sarcastically and produced a small, wicked looking blade from his pocket. Malik stared at it, wondering who carried a knife around with them all the time before remembering his Millennium Rod and the knife concealed in that.

"Go on, then." He hissed, tilting his head to the side and exposing the opposite side of his tanned neck, ready for slitting, his eyes never leaving Bakura's face. "Go on, if you dare."

"With pleasure." The thief retaliated. "I've looked forward to this for so long..."

The knife flashed as it descended pitilessly downwards. Malik watched its progress towards his neck – it was three inches away... an inch... a centimetre... less...

"Stop!" A voice called out, and both heads whipped round to Ryou, whose existence had been partially forgotten in the heated duel. The normally quiet, gentle teenager was striding purposely towards Bakura, who was still towering over the kneeling Malik.

With one hard backhand at Bakura's outstretched limb, Ryou made his yami drop the knife, which went skittering away across the tarmac. Malik's breath hitched – was it possible that he would be spared?

"What are you doing, Ryou?" Bakura snapped. "That idiot bet his life! I'm taking what is owed to me!"

"Don't become a murderer, Bakura..." Ryou murmured softly, his wide, innocent brown eyes fixed on Bakura's narrowed ones. "Not for me. Don't kill him because he fought for me. I don't want that."

"But Ryou – " Bakura growled, but was cut off by the mild-mouthed hikari.

"But nothing. He wagered his life for me, right? That proves he cares, Bakura – please... show him mercy, if only for me. And there must be some way you can take his life without killing him – isn't there?"

Bakura stared at Malik for a long time, scowling to an extent that the Egyptian felt his breathing hitch in nervousness.

"Yes." The tomb robber breathed at last. "I could use a slave."

---

Malik was actually thrown in to the house, barely managing to stay on his feet when he landed. He could vaguely hear Ryou's concerned voice from behind the threatening form of Bakura. What had happened? One minute he had everything where he wanted it, the next...

"Pop-tart." Bakura growled, glaring at Malik, who cowered. The tomb robber was holding his Millennium Rod, pointing it threateningly at him. "Get me a pop-tart. Now!"

"B-but I..." The Egyptian began.

"_Do it!_" The white haired yami snarled, using the Sennen Rod to send a large force of pulsating energy at Malik, who was thrown five feet or so backwards, landing heavily on his back.

"But I don't know what a pop-tart is..." The lilac-eyed boy whimpered, eyeing Bakura warily, almost fearfully. Bakura deflated a little.

"You don't know what a pop-tart is?" Ryou asked gently. Well, at least he was being civil.

"N-no, sir..." Malik murmured. Bakura smirked. At least the scum knew how to talk to his betters.

"I don't suppose you know how to toast one, either?" He snapped. Malik shook his head nervously. "Fine. Ryou'll show you this time."

"Come on, Malik." Ryou inclined his head towards the kitchen, frowning at Bakura behind Malik's back. Bakura rolled his eyes and made his way into the lounge, switching on the television and flinging himself on the sofa.

"This is a pop-tart." Ryou's kind, gentle voice rung through from the kitchen, accompanied by the rustling of a packet. "You put it in the toaster, like this, and press the button down."

There was a muffled, murmured reply from Malik, who, Bakura reckoned, was being exaggeratedly meek, not wanting to cause the rest of his life to be miserable. The tomb robber wanted nothing more than to slit Malik's throat and be done with it, but he respected Ryou's decision. His hikari obviously had a soft spot for the Egyptian, though Bakura couldn't understand why.

And speaking of Ryou, the mild-mannered one had just walked in to the lounge, obviously finished with his short tutorial on the arts of toasting pop-tarts. Bakura's lighter side flopped tiredly on the sofa next to him, brushing a stray lock of pale hair out of his eyes.

"I wish you'd go easier on him, Bakura. Just because he's your slave for the rest of his life doesn't mean you have to beat him and belittle him every chance you get." Ryou sighed. "We all live together now – can't we just all be friends?"

Bakura smiled gently at Ryou's naivety, an expression many didn't know he could manage, and, ignoring the comment, reached to hug Ryou close and nuzzle in to the boy.

"Bakura!" Ryou gasped in shock, jerking away from his yami. "What are you doing?"

"Hugging you." The tomb robber stated in a low voice. "Is that so wrong?"

"N-no, but..." Ryou calmed himself slightly. "It was just so unexpected... I didn't know you cared in that way..."

"Of course..." Bakura almost growled pleasantly. "Why do you think I was so desperate to protect you from Malik?"

"Malik?" Ryou asked in confusion, snuggling against the warmth emanating from Bakura's chest. "But Malik's not dangerous!"

"You don't know him as I do..." the yami responding darkly. "When I knew him he was willing to sacrifice your life, risk your health for his own needs."

"But he was willing to risk his life in a duel for my love!" Ryou protested. "Doesn't that prove he cares? People change, yami. You've changed – I never thought you'd ever care like this, not when you used to use me so..."

Bakura caressed Ryou's cheek comfortingly and, at that moment, Malik walked in. Possibly only someone who was studying the Egyptian's face intensely would have noticed the flicker of pain through his lilac eyes, but it was quickly replaced by the blank submissiveness he had worn since his defeat.

"What do you want?" Bakura spat, holding Ryou to him gloatingly, but Malik refused to rise to the bait, remaining emotionless.

"How will I know when the pop-tart is done, sir?" He asked flatly, nothing in his tone or face to provoke the tomb robber, who raised an eyebrow.

"Go and look." The white haired yami snapped, dismissing the lilac-eyed Egyptian with a wave of his hand. "You'll know when it's done."

Malik nodded and walked back out of the lounge, brushing away a tear.

Ryou stared sadly after the retreating slave, still wrapped in Bakura's arms. The Briton shook his head slightly and buried his head into Bakura's chest, the yami holding him closer lovingly.

There was a yelp from the kitchen, followed by a pitiful whimper-like moan. Ryou sat bolt upright, staring at his chuckling yami angrily.

"Good grief, Bakura, you might have at least told Malik that toasters shoot things out when they're finished!"

"And miss this?" Bakura snickered, too busy laughing to see the sadness and pain in Ryou's eyes as Malik staggered back in with two pop-tarts on a plate carried in one hand, the other covering his bleeding right eye.

"There'd better not be blood in this, scum!" Bakura hissed, his mirth evaporating instantly, checking the pop-tarts for blemishes. Malik gritted his teeth against the pain from his injured eye, blood and aqueous substance in the form of tears seeping out.

"Are you all right?" Ryou asked concernedly, carefully removing Malik's hand from his face, studying the scratch just to the side of his tear duct carefully. "You were lucky it didn't actually hit your eye, or you might have been blinded!"

Malik nodded silently, blinking away the blurriness of the tears, and Ryou was astonished how quickly the Egyptian had gone from confident Sex God to emotionless beaten-down servitude.

"Go and clean the bathroom, Ishtar!" Bakura ordered suddenly, munching on a pop-tart and offering the other to Ryou, who refused. "_Now!_"

Malik nodded and silently left.

"What did I just say?" Ryou asked angrily, wringing his hands agitatedly. "I just told you to be nice to him, didn't I?"

"Ryou..." Bakura breathed, stroking the Briton's hair gently. "Slaves... you have to be horrible to them, or they lose respect and don't work as well..."

"Then let him go."

"_Nani!?_" Bakura's eyes shot wide open. "I can't! I'm taking what is owed to me, he bet me his life! You already stopped me from killing him, koi, don't make me give up his wager."

The conversation was interrupted by the tinkling of glass, and both pale-haired teenagers leapt to their feet, hurrying to the bathroom.

Malik was standing, quivering, over a shattered mirror, staring blankly at Bakura, who had just arrived on the scene, Ryou close behind.

"S-sorry..." the unfortunate Egyptian muttered, looking down at the floor. Ryou began to explain that it was all right, and that he had never really like the mirror anyway, but Bakura cut him off.

"Stupid –!" He yelled, striking Malik across the face. "Why can't you watch what you're doing?"

Ryou stepped forward, blocking out Bakura's shouts, staring at the shards of mirrored glass that were scattered over the floor, showing him many different reflections of himself. In the ones on the right, he could see himself and Bakura. Those on the left showed himself and Malik – those in the middle showed him alone.

Not one shard showed him with both.

"Get in to the kitchen and wait for me!" Bakura spat, pointing at the door. Ryou noticed the slump of Malik's shoulders as the platinum-blond teenager brushed passed and out of the bathroom.

"Go on after him, Ryou, and make sure he doesn't touch anything." The Thief King added in a much more gentle tone. "I'll sort this mess out."

Ryou nodded and, like Malik, took his leave.

---

The hikari entered the kitchen hesitantly; still quite nervous about being in a room alone with Malik, though the handsome young Egyptian did not seem to be any threat at the moment. In fact, he was sitting at the table, his back to Ryou, his head buried in his hands and his shoulders shaking slightly.

"Malik..." Ryou began, taking a step towards his slave. Malik straightened up in shock, turning round hesitantly. He brushed away the tears quickly, but he could do nothing to hide the prominent tracks down his cheeks.

"I don't like to cry," the Ishtar said in his flat voice. "Especially in front of other people. Sir." He added respectfully at the end.

"You don't have to call me "sir"." Ryou said kindly in his heavily accented voice, smiling comfortingly. "You're not my slave, so just plain Ryou will do."

"Th-thanks..." Malik choked in gratitude, turning away and again taking up the posture he had when Ryou walked in the room, his hands entwined in his pale blonde hair, his shoulders trembling. Ryou found himself walking over to the other teen and placing an arm around his shoulders.

Malik's troubled lilac eyes met Ryou's kind brown ones in shock, and Ryou reached his hand up to brush away another tear that was rolling down the tanned cheek.

"You must feel so alone, being so far away from your family..." Ryou's hand moved down as he spoke, rubbing large circles across Malik's back. The Egyptian flinched at the contact and Ryou pulled away, frowning.

"No." Malik responded emotionlessly. "I don't have much of a family, my parents being dead, my adopted brother little more than a servant to me and my sister away doing her own things."

"Oh... I'm sorry..." Ryou murmured. There wasn't anything else to say.

"For what?" Malik asked blankly. "You couldn't do anything to change the past and it is not you who has taken me and imprisoned me so. That is a fault of my own."

"I know, but you seem so... so broken, so hollow..." the British teenager commented sadly.

"That is a fault of Marik's, and not of yours." Malik answered, jerking his shoulder away from Ryou's soothing hand. "Maybe if his lust for sex and power were not so great, I would not have become so docile so quickly."

"You mean he-?" Ryou began, but was cut off by Malik's toneless reply.

"This is not a conversation I wish to continue, but I will tell you only that the scars will remain."

"I – I don't know what to say..."

"Then don't say anything." Malik shrugged nonchalantly. Ryou stared at the other boy for a moment and then pulled the Egyptian in to a hug, feeling him stiffen in shock.

"Wh-what...?" He began, but Ryou's finger was placed over his lips, the white-haired Briton staring in to his eyes.

"This is all my fault..." Ryou spoke in to Malik's ear softly, apologetically. "If it weren't for me, none of this would have happened and you'd still be free!"

"I fell in love with you..." Malik answered quietly, emotion filling his voice for the first time since his loss. "Not the other way round."

Ryou nuzzled in to Malik's cheek, causing the Egyptian to shiver as though cold.

"You love me?" he asked amazedly. "You really love me?"

Malik nodded, a slight brush creeping to his cheeks. Ryou was astonished when he saw this, to such an extent that he leaned down to gently catch Malik's mouth with his own.

"_Ryou!?_" Bakura almost screeched in the doorway, and Malik and Ryou leapt apart like scalded frogs. "What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_, Ishtar!?"

Malik backed away fearfully; Bakura was in a towering rage.

"I – I..." He began.

"You _lost_ the duel! That's the entire reason you're here, you little fuck! Get out of my sight! _Get out of my sight!_"

A plate shattered against the wall next to the fleeing Malik's head, leaving Bakura standing panting next to a frozen Ryou. The tomb robber turned furiously upon the other white-haired teenager.

"Bakura..." Ryou began, an attempt to calm his yami down.

"Shut up, Ryou! You should know better! He's a _slave_, for Ra's sake!" In his fit of rage, Bakura backhanded Malik's glass of water off the table, sending it splashing down on to the wire for the kettle.

The tomb robber only just managed to shelter Ryou from the small explosion, standing in front of the hikari as the kitchen began to catch fire. The crackling of the red-gold flames and the smoke began quickly to overpower Ryou, and Bakura had to carry his light half out of the house himself, setting him down on the grass.

It took about five minutes for Ryou to regain full consciousness, and he sat bolt upright, wide-eyed.

"Malik!"

---

Malik sat on his blanket in the room he had been given, a small, cupboard-sized space. At first when he heard the screaming from downstairs, he reckoned that Bakura and Ryou were arguing about him – a thought that caused him to bury his head in his hands in despair. He had torn Ryou's life apart when all he really wanted to do was love the boy.

Then Ishtar looked up and saw the flames creeping round the doorway, they had moved so fast that they were already up the stairs. He didn't panic, because fire had never really been a threat to him before, but when he saw that there was no other way for him to escape, he began to feel slightly afraid.

"Oh, Ra!" The young Egyptian cried out, feeling the heat as the fiery death began to lick closer. He cannot be called a coward, for even the bravest man will whimper when he sees his destiny so close.

The floor beneath him began to shake.

---

Bakura was nearly back inside the house when the first floor simply gave way and collapsed. As he coughed up the dust and fought his way through the rubble, he saw something that made his heart sink in his chest.

Lilac and tan, platinum blond hair, bloodstains. Malik was lying facedown on top of the fresh rubble, unconscious, covered in his own blood. Bakura felt something twang in his chest at the sight of his mutual enemy looking so vulnerable.

The back of Malik's purple top was smouldering, and, even as Bakura watched, it burst in to flames. The tomb robber whipped his own top off, beating the fire down, picking the limp body up in his arms and helping him to safety.

---

Ryou cried out as he saw Bakura with his sad burden, rushing forwards and stroking the limp teen's cheek.

"I-is he...?" He began. Bakura shook his head gently, setting Malik down on the ground facedown, careful of the terrible burns on his back.

"No, he'll live." He murmured in his low voice, before silently adding:

_Hopefully..._


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter 3: The Meeting of the Ends _or_ Ryou's Decision.**

Bakura's was discharged from the hospital the next day, his injuries minimal and his body physically strong enough to deal with the toxins from the carbon monoxide. The tomb robber ventured in to Ryou's ward to check up on his tenshi, who had sunk, weak with shock, in to a deep sleep.

Ryou was awake when Bakura sat with him, smiling happily that the yami was all right, asking concernedly for news of his house, of which Bakura had none, but when the conversation turned to Malik... Ryou's eyes deadened and he looked away, refusing to speak any more.

Malik was the only one left to visit, in a private ward in one of the other wings. His injuries had been extensive; the inhalation of the deadly fumes almost proving fatal, the terrible burns on his back and, of course, the fall from the first storey when the floor collapsed had already taken their toll on the young Egyptian.

Malik was lying facedown on a bed, the covers around his waist, naked from there upward and a large, bloodstained bandaged covering his injuries. Bakura silently sat next to the platinum blond, feeling quite guilty about the whole thing.

It was his fault that the fire had started; there was no one else to blame. He had overreacted at finding Ryou in Malik's embrace and his rash actions afterwards could easily have been fatal for all of them. Was he just lucky that Malik had come off worst?

But though Malik was his enemy and his slave, the tomb robber found himself looking sadly down at the limp form. It was true that he had risked his own life to save the tanned teenager, but it was his fault that Malik needed saving in the first place.

Bakura brushed a straggled lock of blond hair from Malik's eyes, staring at him for a moment. He had never appreciated before how handsome Malik was – the tan of his lean, sylphlike body, the woven gold of his hair, the strange yet beautifully haunting lilac of his eyes – would those eyes remain closed forever because of his carelessness?

Bakura jerked his hand away in surprise as Malik began to whimper, writhing in his sleep. His lips were moving; Bakura could hear what he was moaning.

"Papa! Papa! Please stop, it hurts! Please stop, Papa! You're hurting me, stop hurting me! Oh – oh..." Bakura felt his shoulders slump and his face contort in pity as another moan was drawn out of the boy. "Mama... Mama... where's Mama? I want my Mama... Oh, Mama, Mama, where are you...?"

Against his instincts, the white-haired tomb robber felt himself reaching a hand out to stroke Malik's hair comfortingly in an attempt to calm the other teenager down unless he hurt himself.

"Shh... I'm here, Malik... I'm here..." He murmured softly – there didn't really seem to be much else to do. All feuds and hatred were forgotten at the sight of the Egyptian writhing and whimpering so.

The tactics seemed to be working; Malik slowly stopped whimpering, but, as Bakura drew his hand away, the unconscious teenager arched his back, screaming.

"Take it out! Oh Ra, Marik, please take it out! No, no, no! Not again, please not again! Let me go, oh Ra, oh gods! Marik, let me go!"

The screams subsided to incoherent sobs as Bakura leapt up and held Malik firmly, gingerly aware of the wounds on his back, yet desperately trying to stop him from hurting himself more.

The cold, solid meaning of the howled words hit home in the tomb robber, and he almost let go of Malik in frozen shock. Was that – could that have been an unconscious confession of what the lilac-eyed teenager's yami had done to him? Bakura was unaware of the conversation that had passed between Ryou and Malik before he had walked in on them, but if he knew then his mind would have been made up.

So that was why Malik was so dead and emotionless. It was inhumane to keep someone abused so a prisoner for any longer. Bakura vowed, as soon as Malik awoke, to grant the Egyptian his freedom.

As though the comatose Malik had heard his thoughts, with a great shuddering inhalation the tanned teenager opened his eyes, tensing at the rush of pain from his back and the torn skin on his arm from the collapsing roof.

"Ba... ku... ra...?" He gasped as the agony flared, leaning in to Bakura's hand, which was still caressing his cheek gently. The tomb robber stiffened.

"You said my name." He said flatly, and Malik slumped back in to the bed.

"S-sorry... M-Master..."

"It's... it's ok..." _Say it again, oh Ra!_ Bakura shook his head, trying to unthink what his brain was screaming, but to no avail. Had he really gone from hate to love that quickly? "But why would you say my name?"

"Y-you... saved my... l-life..." Malik emitted a strained exhalation, staring at his torn, bloody arm. "Oh... look at me... I look dreadful..."

"No, you don't..." Bakura murmured comfortingly. _Ra, I sound like Ryou!_ "You look beautiful."

"B-beautiful?"

"Yes, beautiful." A new voice answered from the doorway. Ryou limped in to the ward, his eyes filled with gratitude as he glanced at Bakura. "You'll always be beautiful, no matter what scars you."

_Scars..._ _He'll carry those scars for always - because of me... I've gone too far..._ The white haired yami closed his eyes and swallowed.

"Listen... Malik... you can leave my service. You no longer have to pay off the debt you owe to me. I grant you your freedom."

There was a joyous cry and Ryou wrapped his arms around Bakura, smiling happily at the Thief King before looking expectantly at Malik.

The British hikari's face fell.

Malik was crying.

"Are you all right?" The mild-mannered teenager asked concernedly as Malik took great gulping breaths to calm himself.

"D-don't kick me out!" He begged. "I d-don't have anywhere to go except back to M-Marik..." The lilac eyes grew wide and fearful. "Oh, please don't send me back to Marik!"

"Hey, hey... Malik... it's ok..." Ryou moved away from Bakura to caress Malik's cheek gently. "You can stay with us, ok? You can stay. You'll have to pull your own weight, mind." The Briton glanced at Bakura, who nodded slightly.

Malik leaned in to the comforting touch.

"Th-thank you... thank you so much..."

---

It was a week before Malik was discharged from the hospital. Ryou was quite concerned that, according to the doctors, the Egyptian's body had been injured seriously internally as well, but he did not mention it to Malik and requested that the doctors do the same. It wouldn't do Malik good to know that Marik (as undoubtedly was the cause) was affecting him so.

Poor Ryou was the only source of conversation between Malik and Bakura, who didn't speak to each other much. Malik, because he was still quite scared of Bakura and his wild outbursts of temper, and Bakura because he realised that he had hurt the boy so much.

Which is the reason why Ryou was sitting curled up on his yami's lap, wrapped comfortingly in the strong arms, staring uneasily at Malik, who was some distance away on the other sofa.

It was a typical evening these days. After school and homework were finished, Ryou and Bakura would help Malik finish the chores that were piled upon him and all three would settle down to watch television, a secret pleasure for Malik after his technology-deprived childhood.

But Ryou always seemed to wind up in Bakura's arms, while Malik edged further away, as though there were a mental rift. Ryou was worried and confused – he knew he really liked Bakura, that much was obvious, but whenever he thought of Malik he had a strange twang in his stomach.

After Bakura had told Ryou privately about Malik's words in his delirium, Ryou had come to realise something else about the platinum-blond: under his confident, Sex God exterior, Malik was just a scared, lost little boy, alone in a country that was not his own, without family or friends to guide him through his increasingly downhill life.

A lot like Ryou himself, really.

"Hey, Malik...?" The introvert white-haired boy found himself murmuring. "Come and sit with me..."

"Wh-what?" The Egyptian asked uncertainly.

"Come and sit with me and Bakura, Malik. Come on." Ryou inclined his head and gestured with his hands, imploring that Malik listen to him. The lilac-eyed boy, after some hesitation, rose to sit next to the two others.

Bakura shifted uncomfortably at being in such close proximity to the person he had hurt so much, but Ryou reached an arm out of his tight embrace to pull Malik closer, hugging him to his yami. Malik stared down at the arm in some surprise, but made no move to remove it.

"Listen," Ryou began drowsily, tearing his eyes away from the flickering screen. "Back when Malik broke the mirror, I looked in the shards to see my reflections with each of you. None of the shards showed me with both of you; maybe it was fate that made them fall like that."

Ryou pulled himself away from Bakura with a small sigh, standing and turning to look at the other two teenagers, who were both quite uncomfortable at being so close to each other.

"I want to give it a chance. I can't choose between you, I love you both so much – you're both special to me in your own way. Please, can we give it a try? All three of us?"

Both Bakura and Malik nodded slightly, though neither looked at the other, and Ryou smiled slightly.

"Um... I'll need to two to lighten up...?" He asked hopefully. Bakura looked at him, then glanced at Malik, then fixed his gaze firmly on the floor.

"Can you... forgive me, Malik? For hurting you like I did?" He asked tonelessly, and the blond Egyptian smiled.

"Of course... Bakura... and can you in turn forgive me for all I have done to you?"

"Yes... oh Ra, Malik!" Bakura flung his arms around the stunned teenager, pulling him closer. Malik whimpered in to the embrace and Ryou found himself watching fondly as Bakura's mouth captured the lilac-eyed one's in an almost-chaste kiss.

Malik and Bakura broke apart at last, both looking innocently happy, an expression which was surprising for people with such reputations.

"Live happily ever after?" He asked in a soft voice, joining the embrace.

"No one lives happily... not forever..." Malik murmured in to Bakura's chest. "But we could give it a try?"

Ryou glanced at Bakura, who smiled and nodded, and both said in almost perfect unison:

"Yes. Let's."

---

**Author Note: **It was, and remains, my intention to end the story here, however I am taking in to account the unexpected praise I have received in reviews and have decided to open a vote. When you review, please clarify if you want the story to end here or if you want me to write another couple of chapters – they are already planned out just in case, so there will be no extra hassle for me.

Many thanks.


	4. Chapter IV

**Chapter 4: Bloodstains _or_ Marik And His Little Games**

The attitude in Ryou's household, which had been almost completely restored after the fire tearing through it, had lightened considerably now that Bakura and Malik had set aside their differences and accepted, at Ryou's request, to try and date each other in the threesome.

It was now quite common for Bakura to stop by Malik's bedroom in the morning to give the Egyptian a quick kiss before heading off to wherever he went during the day, possibly work, possibly stalking hapless pensioners and stealing their wallets, not even Ryou was sure.

Ryou himself would invariably visit both Malik and Bakura for cuddles and kisses before departing for school. He left before Bakura, so the tomb robber would sometimes make the most of the moment to steal a kiss from Malik that was so much more than just chaste, a hand often sliding down into his trousers to fondle his manhood.

The Egyptian was only just getting used to being touched so gently – Marik would mercilessly thrust his hand there, roughly clawing as he pounded Malik's lithe body in to whatever surface he was tied to.

Of course, when both Ryou and Bakura were out, Malik was left with the keys to the house – where he now lived. He hadn't really had a cause to leave, unless it was to run a quick errand down to the newsagents or grocery. He certainly hadn't had a need to return to his own house – he lived with his two new lovers now.

Malik was therefore left to answer the door to all calling salesmen and friends, a job he took very seriously indeed, which is why he was so quick to answer when the bell rang on the fateful day our story continues.

"Hello, this is the Bakura household, how may I help - ?" The lilac-eyed Egyptian's cheerful greeting was cut off as a strong hand was clamped over his mouth and he was slammed backwards into the wall, the front door kicked shut behind him. Stars exploded in front of his vision as he struggled to focus against the sudden onslaught.

"So this is where you've been hiding, little whore..." Marik sneered softly in to his ear. Malik tried desperately to stop his head spinning, his abusive yami's hand cutting off his air supply. Marik struck him hard around the face.

"I'm so good to you, bitch, to let you out without keeping you on a collar and lead – and how do you repay me? By running away! Imagine my dismay when my little bitch didn't return home at playtime!" Marik's voice was a sibilant hiss and poor Malik whimpered helplessly into the suffocating hand.

"Well, now that I'm here..." Marik looked around appreciatively, removing his hand from the terrified hikari's mouth. "I've never had sex in someone else's house before – I think I might come to enjoy it!"

All Malik could do was emit a frightened moan.

---

Ryou and Bakura hitched up in the street by pure coincidence, finishing the carefree, ambling walk back to the house together, deep in conversation. Bakura kissed Ryou softly outside the front door before opening it, expecting another normal day.

Only this time Malik did not come to greet the home comers as usual.

Ryou glanced nervously at his yami.

"Where's Malik? Did he say he was going out?" The introvert teenager asked with concern. Bakura shook his head pensively.

"No – and the door was unlocked, wasn't it? Maybe he's just in the bathroom or something."

Bakura fell silent as he felt Ryou tugging persistently on his sleeve. The tomb robber turned slowly, with an inexplicable feeling of dread in his stomach, to see what Ryou was pointing at. Blood flecks.

Tiny little droplets of blood, irregularly scattered as though from a nosebleed. Bakura found himself hoping that that was all Malik had suffered, but an icy feeling in the back of his mind told him there was no way that could be true.

Ryou was beginning to follow the grisly trail, his eyes fixed firmly on the strewn specks, which led upstairs. Bakura followed, in case something bad lurked ready to do his hikari harm – Ryou was much too important to him to take risks, and his gut feeling told him that whatever they would find at the end of the blood trail wouldn't be nice.

Not even his gut feeling could have prepared him for the horrific sight to greet him as he walked in to Malik's bedroom – blood. Nothing but blood, everywhere. Stains on the carpet, spattered up the wall, the sheets of the bed reddened and strewn everywhere, the very image of the scene of a fight. It froze even the hardened tomb robber to a disbelieving standstill.

Ryou, however, who was much more delicate than Bakura, clapped his hand to his mouth and cried out.

"Malik! Oh gods, Malik! Where are you?"

Bakura followed the stricken teenager as he rushed through to their own bedroom, a large space with two single beds, one on each wall. Again Ryou froze and cried out – their room was in very much the same state as Malik's had been. Blood was smeared up the walls; both beds were almost black with gore. The window was smashed; deep burgundy stains on the fresh sharp edges.

One particular wall caught Bakura's eyes, however, that adjoining Ryou's bed. There, daubed in great, shaking letters of dark red, the beginnings of a word: "Mari– " ending in a desperate streak.

"Marik." The thief king growled deep in his throat, causing Ryou to look at the awful insignia. "That bastard!"

"Wh-where do you think he's taken Malik?" Ryou asked quietly in his nervous voice. Bakura pulled him into a comforting one-armed hug.

"I could only assume back to their own house, tenshi. Do you know where that is?"

"No, but we can follow the blood. If Malik was really bleeding so bad in here," Ryou swallowed, almost painfully, "then he should have left a pretty clear trail when Marik took him away."

---

Ryou was right – there was a clear trail of speckles in the street which led to a small, rundown, derelict house not far from where the British teenager lived with his yami. _This is where Malik lives? _His first thoughts as he spotted the end of the gruesome tracks. _No wonder he was so keen to leave! The place is a dump!_

Bakura fearlessly knocked on the door and Ryou heard the approaching footsteps apprehensively, instinctively shrinking back a little when the door was flung open by someone who looked a lot like Malik – the only differences being the hairstyle, the over-confident smirk and the cold lifelessness of the lilac eyes.

"We're here for Malik." Bakura said tonelessly, which caused the smirking figure to smile in, what Ryou deemed, a cruel way.

"Oh!" Marik smiled brightly in mock innocent surprise. "You know about the whore?"

Before either Ryou or Bakura could object about the idle insult Marik passed about Malik, the strange-haired yami turned round and yelled in a loud voice that would surely resonate about the entire derelict house.

"BITCH! GET OUT HERE!"

Ryou clapped a hand over his mouth as Malik emerged from a side room, staggering towards the front door, leaning heavily on the wall for support, naked from the waist upwards. Every visible inch of the tanned Egyptian flesh was either reddened with blood or blackened with bruising, and a tight studded dog collar had been fitted about his neck.

Marik gave Malik a shove in the back as his hikari reached the door, forcing him on to all fours in front of Ryou and Bakura. The cold yami's lilac eyes suddenly flashed wrathfully.

"Who gave you permission to put your trousers back on!?" He snapped at Malik, ripping away the black leather, leaving the teenager completely exposed. With a powerful kick to the ribs, Malik was tossed on to his back, and Marik knelt on his chest, effectively pinning him to the floor, kissing his face roughly and pointedly disregarding the bleeding cuts and ruptured skin.

Bakura couldn't stand it – he had realised at the hospital that Marik was abusive, but he hadn't realised how serious the problem was. Malik was dying before his very eyes, much more of this torture and there would be no saving him. Judging by the sheer amount of re-decoration at his house alone, no doubt more of which lay concealed within the collapsing slum of the Ishtars, Malik had already lost a considerable amount of blood. It was a miracle that the lilac-eyed teen could stand at all.

"Stop it, Marik!" The thief king snapped, lunging at Marik and pulling the Egyptian off his defenceless hikari. "No sixteen year old should have to put up with this!"

Marik snarled, gripping Ryou and whirling a loose hand about the white-haired one's throat.

"You would rather I played with your little baby here?" He smirked confidently, and stole a powerful, dominating kiss from the helpless Briton, who squirmed in the strong grasp. Malik's head lolled as he moved, desperately trying to focus on the hikari he loved so much.

"Master..." The platinum-gold boy breathed hoarsely, but Marik waved a dismissive hand in his direction.

"Quiet, slut. You've lost your fun. New toys are so much nicer to play with!"

"That's enough, Marik!" Bakura lunged at the other yami, knocking him off his feet, causing him to let Ryou go in surprise. The mild-mannered boy fell limply to the floor, crawling over to the gore-drenched Malik and holding his limp form tightly in a hug, pushing the straggled, matted hair out of the agonised, panting face.

_What kind of person tortures and rapes someone as beautiful as Malik, and then denies him permission to even wash away the stains?_ The British teen thought despairingly.

"He's an excellent fuck." Marik sneered towards Malik, pinned underneath Bakura, staring hatefully up at the tomb robber, who promptly smacked him round the face.

"Stop it." The pale-haired yami breathed angrily. "Just stop it. You've gone too far, Marik. This time I'll make you pay!"

Marik threw another lust-filled glance at Malik, who was clutched protectively in Ryou's grasp, before looking back up at the teenager on top of him, uttering two confident words:

"Bring it."


	5. Chapter V

**Chapter 5 – Good Intentions in Hellfire_ or_ The Recovering Loons**

Marik smirked at Bakura, who was pinning him to the ground, his cold, lust-filled eyes sweeping over Ryou, who was clutching the half-dead Malik to him protectively. The irate tomb robber again smacked the abusive yami hard on the face.

"How _dare_ you do what you have done to Malik? How _dare_ you lie there and gloat about it?" The white haired thief king snarled.

"Oh, I dare..." Marik breathed, suddenly freeing his hand and whipping it round. Bakura was slammed into the wall by the power of the Millennium Rod, quite unable to move, his own Ring flying away from him. Next to Ryou, Malik's eyes began to mist over and he shuddered before laying limply in the hikari's arms.

Ryou was on his own, and Marik was advancing on him hungrily.

"Ryou!" Bakura called desperately, struggling in vain against the ancient and fearsome energy that was pinning him down. Marik leered at the tomb robber and suddenly lunged at Ryou, pinning the milder boy up against the wall. Ryou cried out quietly as his head was flung backwards in to the unmoving brick.

The wild-haired yami's hand began undoing Ryou's jeans with deceptive gentleness, while the other mercilessly gripped the whimpering hikari's face. Marik thrust his tongue roughly in to poor Ryou's mouth, the British teenager naturally too docile to fight back.

Then, suddenly, Ryou's jeans were tugged away by the heartless Egyptian towering over him, and the helpless boy screamed as two cold fingers tore into him from behind, scissoring sharply, ripping the muscle apart.

Oh, Ra, the pain! Did Malik have to put up with this all the time? Ryou felt as though he was being split apart, wrenched in half... a third finger was added and Marik parted them again, grinning sadistically against Ryou's lips as the trapped teen moaned and screamed, writhing in agony.

Bakura could do nothing but watch, desperately trying to reach his lighter half – he hated seeing his other side beaten like this, crying out for help that his yami could not give...

"You enjoying this, tomb robber?" Marik asked tauntingly in his slow, deliberate voice. "You want a go after me?"

"You! You sick bastard! You sick, twisted _bastard_!" Bakura screeched, his rage increased by his inability to help his loved one. Malik's limp body lay discarded and unnoticed at Marik's feet, and the yami suddenly kicked it viciously towards Bakura, who fell silent at the sight of the tanned boy's bloodstained face, eyes closed in a parody of death.

Marik sneered a perverse grin at Bakura and wriggled his fingers inside Ryou, who howled as they brushed his newly torn flesh. The Briton's blood was stained up Marik's hand and forearm, and the Egyptian nibbled Ryou harshly on the ear.

"Isn't he such a wonderfully obedient toy?" The wild-haired one asked tauntingly. "He screams so earnestly. Has he been taking lessons from Malik?"

Bakura growled in his throat slightly, but a knowledge that he could do nothing but make Ryou's situation worse caused him to look down at Malik –

- who winked.

The beaten, bloodied boy's eyes were partially open, and he was grimacing in pain with every slight movement, but he had clearly regained consciousness and the slits of his eyes that Bakura _could_ see were burning with a dogged determination.

The milder Egyptian's agonised eyes closed again and his face tightened in either strain or concentration, or even a mix of both.

The ancient golden aura of energy trapping Bakura lightened unexpectedly and the thief king fell to the floor, shuffling silently to the near-comatose Malik, who used his final energy to whisper hoarsely into the white-haired yami's ear:

"Help... Ryou..."

Bakura nodded sadly to Malik and then leapt on Marik, who was preoccupied with causing Ryou to scream heartrendingly. A dreadful shriek of rage was torn from the sadist's throat as Bakura cannonballed into his chest, knocking him sideways.

Ryou slid down the wall, pulling the remains of his jeans over himself to preserve any dignity he had left, tears staining his cheeks, shivering spasmodically. His unseeing eyes drifted over the limp bleeding bundle that was Malik, to the yelling, cursing whirl of fists that engulfed Marik and Bakura.

Bakura slammed Marik's head down on the floor, straddling the taller yami's chest, hitting his face repeatedly. The tomb robber grabbed a fistful of Marik's black skin-tight shirt and pulled the other man's face up to his.

"Listen." He hissed dangerously. "I'm going to leave now, and I'm taking Malik and Ryou with me. You aren't going to come anywhere near us and you're never going to hurt either of them again!" With one final slam back of his head back on to the floor, Marik lost consciousness.

Bakura left the limp form of the abusive yami where he lay, hurrying over to his own hikari, kneeling by his side, letting Ryou sob into his shoulder.

"Are you all right, tenshi?" He asked nervously in his husky voice.

"N-no... it hurts... it hurts so bad... h-how can Malik put up with this?" Ryou wept uncontrollably. Bakura brushed his hikari's pale hair from his face as he helped the milder boy to his feet.

"Can you walk?" He asked tentatively. Ryou gulped back his tears and nodded.

"I – I think so... s-someone needs to h-help Malik... oh, gods, it hurts!" Ryou gripped Bakura's shoulder, burying his head in the warmth, trying to chase away the haunting memories of those cold, dead fingers...

Bakura supported Ryou over to Malik, who, once again, lay limp and lifeless, the lilac eyes – so full of pain when they were opened – were now closed. The Egyptian looked almost peaceful; the bloodstains on his face being the only factors to jolt Bakura back to the sickening reality.

The tomb robber hoisted Malik over his shoulder with one hand, the other holding Ryou to him, and began making his painstakingly slow way back to their own house.

---

Somehow Bakura managed to struggle home with his two burdens, helping the shivering Ryou to sit on the sofa in the front room and reverently carrying Malik upstairs, laying him to rest in his bed.

For most of the night, he was sitting up with his hikari in the lounge, watching muted television, hugging the more fragile boy to him comfortingly. Poor Ryou had been through a huge shock – Bakura supposed that Malik was probably used to it, from what he had heard from the tanned boy's tortured dreams, but Ryou... he had been new to the entire idea of sex, Bakura and Malik were his first partners, and now...

The tomb robber stroked Ryou's pale hair softly, holding the Briton tightly to him in an instinctive attempt to chase away the horrors that would almost certainly haunt him when he dared sleep.

"Why, Bakura?" Ryou wept into his yami's chest, speaking for the first time in hours. "Why did he do it? Why does he hurt Malik so much?"

Bakura noticed, with a sad inward smile, Ryou's ability, even while in shock, to be virtually selfless. His speech held no hint that Marik had assaulted him at all, it was composed entirely of sympathy and concern for Malik.

"I don't know, koi..." He breathed soothingly, letting Ryou bury his face in his shoulder, caressing his cheek gently. "I don't know how his mind works... maybe he thinks it's funny, or maybe he thinks that Malik is something he owns and should be treated so – or maybe he's just a twisted sadistic bastard."

The tomb robber had avoided mentioning that Marik had abused Ryou, just like the introvert boy had done. If Ryou was embarrassed or ashamed – natural reactions in cases like these – then the teenager certainly didn't need to be reminded.

And then, at last, Ryou admitted that he had narrowly escaped being raped.

"W-Why did he attack me...? What did I do to him? Oh, Bakura, it hurts! Why?"

"Always the innocent are the first victims." A hoarse, tired voice came from the doorway. "So it has been, so it will continue to be."

Malik was standing there and, even as Ryou and Bakura watched, his eyes closed and he swayed before falling forward limply.

Bakura, with lightning fast reflexes, managed to catch the Egyptian before he slumped to the ground, holding the other teen up.

"Are you all right?" The thief king asked concernedly in his husky voice. "Come and sit with me an Ryou. Ra, Malik, you shouldn't even be walking, the amount of blood you lost!"

Malik was lain on the sofa, his head on Ryou's lap – this actually calmed the silver-haired hikari down drastically; his shivering stopped, as did his tears, while he gazed down at Malik's face, the Egyptian's eyes only half open.

"What did you mean by that comment?" He asked eventually, his eyes red and his voice raw with crying. Malik smiled weakly.

"It is just something Isis said a lot... never really asked what it means..."

Ryou sighed, leaning in to Bakura, who had retaken his seat next to his hikari, playing with a lock of Malik's platinum gold hair.

"I don't understand." The tomb robber commented suddenly. "How did I manage to get free of the Sennen Rod?"

"I did it..." Malik managed. "When I regained consciousness and saw him hurting Ryou... I used all my energy to intercept his control of the Rod – we're both Ishtars, so we can both use it... I released the energy, and then... blacked out again..." Malik tilted his head into Ryou's grateful hand, which was caressing his cheek.

"How can you cope with it?" The Briton questioned quietly. "What he did to me was like being tickled by a feather compared to what he's done to you, yet you can just bear it... how?"

"Long practise..." Malik answered sadly. "I cope through long practise at coping... it was..." the Egyptian's look was suddenly one of pain. "it was your first time, wasn't it?"

Ryou nodded and Malik sighed heavily.

"I am sorry."

It was then that Ryou made what was possibly the bravest statement Bakura had ever heard him make.

"Don't be sorry. It was Marik, not you, and it was because I was trying to rescue you, so I don't mind – I'd rather me hurt than you... I don't want to see you hurt anymore..."

A tear dripped from Ryou's cheek on to Malik's face, where the shining wetness was already prominent, and Bakura smiled gently, glad that his two tenshis seemed to be pulling through.


	6. Chapter VI

**Chapter 6: Bonding _or_ Let's Have A Shag!**

Bakura, for the first time since Malik's disappearance, felt relaxed, with both of the hikaris dozing in his arms, on the couch in front of the noiseless, flickering television. The tomb robber had at first been surprised that, while Malik didn't really seem too distraught at his torture, Ryou, who hadn't been subject to a fraction of Malik's pain, was even now still shivering and whimpering occasionally. Bakura deemed this to be through years of abuse on Malik's part, whereas Ryou had been a virgin.

That was probably part of the reason Ryou was so upset. From what Malik had said, his innocence had been stolen from him long before he was old enough to comprehend the full meaning, but Ryou had been saving it for someone special, someone he really loved, a dream which had been shattered by the cruel intrusion of three cold fingers.

"I'm glad you're both safe now…" the white haired yami murmured softly, causing the teens in his arms to stir slightly. "You alright?"

Malik nodded blankly, but Ryou let out a great shuddering sigh and buried his face in Bakura's chest, the thief stroking his white hair comfortingly. The pale haired yami instinctively held his gentle hikari close to chase away the evil that tormented him.

Ishtar, however, leant over Bakura to place a tender, loving kiss on Ryou's cheek, nuzzling gently into the other hikari.

"I love you, my Ryou, and I'm sorry for inflicting such pain on you." The platinum headed Egyptian apologised softly. "I love you, both of you, more than life itself."

"It wasn't your fault." Ryou responded, leaning in to Malik's touch. "I chose to come and rescue you. I… I knew the risks, but I would have done anything to have you back in my arms."

"Let's stop talking about this." Bakura commanded firmly, yet with a gentleness shown to no one but Malik and Ryou. "Let's talk about or do something else to take our minds off it."

Malik nodded and let go of Ryou, snuggling in to Bakura and closing his eyes to sleep, the tomb robber following his example, hugging the two hikaris close.

Now only Ryou was left awake.

After about an hour, in which the young Briton meditated long and hard, he finally reached a decision in his mind.

"Bakura…" He muttered, blushing and shaking his yami awake. "Bakura, I… I want you to… I want you to touch me…"

"Wha'?" The wilder-haired teen asked, blinking post-sleep disorientation from his eyes, unsure of if he had heard correctly or if he was still dreaming.

"I love you and Malik." Ryou went on, as though the Thief King had not interrupted. "I trust you enough to let you do this to me. I want to feel fingers, without them being slammed inside me by force – I want to be touched lovingly, and tenderly, like I know you will… Oh, please, yami, I don't want to be scared of sex for the rest of my life, not when, at the same time, I'd love to experience it with you and Malik so much…"

"Should I wake Malik too?" Bakura asked, blinking in a daze; it was hard to believe that Ryou – sweet, innocent little Ryou – should be the one of the three of them asking for sex. Bakura and Malik both had reputations, which, not mattering if they were true or not, stated that they were sex-obsessed whores and the idealistics in sexiness and seduction. That fact, at least, had been used to the full by Malik when he was wooing Ryou, right before all of this had started.

"Yes…" Ryou gave a small nervous nod. "I want to feel him as well… before I lose my nerve all together…"

Malik was easy enough to wake up, as he was naturally a light sleeper and he was far from being unconscious, as he had been in the hospital, or at the Ishtar residence. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he gazed questioningly at the two whitenettes, the milder of whom suddenly stared in horror at his neck.

"Malik!" Ryou gasped in concern. "You've still got that awful collar on!"

Indeed, the young Egyptian was still wearing that tight studded dog collar that Marik had forced around his neck, but his hands flew up protectively when Ryou reached forwards to take it off.

"What's the matter?" The Briton asked in confusion. "You don't _like_ being his pet, do you?"

"Far from it." Malik shrugged sadly. "I loath being connected to Marik in any way, but he was so angry that I had run away from him that he made me wear the collar and put some sort of curse on it with the Sennen Rod." A small sigh illustrated the words before they were uttered. "If anyone but he tries to touch the buckle, it would burn them."

"Oh…" Ryou touched the leather of the collar softly. "So you're stuck in it until you go back to him and get him to take it off?"

"Yes." Ishtar agreed. "And he won't take it off, because it's a mark that he owns me, and he's always been… possessive, to say the least."

A stony silence followed the words as the two whitenette teens digested this information. Yes, Marik was possessive. That was one of the reasons that Malik had been targeted so badly earlier, because Marik had been annoyed of his hikari's flight from the abuse that he was subject to.

"So…" Malik broke the silence, his voice forcedly cheerful. "Why are we waking up?"

He looked from Bakura, who had a faint smirk gracing his features, to Ryou, whose cute blush was enticing enough for the Egyptian to place three small kisses, one on each cheek and one on his forehead.

"I'll let Ryou tell you." The spirit's voice was rich with humour. "He might get embarrassed if I do."

After hitting Bakura lightly upside the head, Ryou turned his red face onto Malik's again, mouthing wordlessly for a while before he could make a sound.

"I want to be touched…" He muttered, as though ashamed of the fact. "I want to feel it when there's love behind it. Not when it's fuelled by hatred."

"Then… you are braver than I." Malik smiled gently. "And you needn't be ashamed for thinking such a thing. I'll gladly grant you any wish."

The Egyptian glanced to Bakura, who nodded, and then picked Ryou up and carried him upstairs to the whitenette's shared-with-yami bedroom, setting him in one of the beds. Bakura had thankfully cleaned the blood from the walls, so now it looked less like a morgue and more like a bedroom.

Laying the milder whitenette teen on the bed, the young tomb keeper waited for Bakura to join him, and then both began to slowly and gently strip Ryou, Malik removing his shirt, sliding it sensuously over his head, while Bakura fiddled with the fastenings on his trousers.

You could have fried an egg on Ryou's cheeks as the other two teens pilfered him of his clothing.

"Hey! Guys! That's not fair, I'm naked and both you are fully dressed!" He protested, trying to cover himself and preserve his dignity with nothing but his hands, as his clothing had been mercilessly thrown on the floor some feet away.

Smirking at each other, Malik and Bakura both stripped the other quickly, so, in no time at all, all three were as naked as the day they were born. There was only one difference between Ryou and Bakura now, as both their bodies were almost exactly identical: Bakura was already hard.

Ryou stared at his yami's length, a mixture of different emotions flitting across his face. Malik, too, was staring with a tilted head at Bakura's crotch, and the yami, without any self-consciosness, grinned and leaned back to give them a better view.

"Like what you see?" He asked teasingly, and both hikaris flushed lightly, averting their gaze. "Oh, come on, don't be shy. Malik, Marik must have made you touch him at some point?"

Malik nodded, and Bakura flashed him a look that said clearly "sorry to have brought that up".

"Well… touch Ryou like you touched Marik, except put all the love you can behind it. I have something planned."

If either Ryou or Malik were apprehensive about Bakura's plotting, they hid it, and Malik complied silently to the tomb robber's wishes, touching Ryou gently, stroking his hand back and forth over the now-rapidly-rising flesh, listening to the increase of speed in Ryou's breathing and watching the arching of the pale back off the bed.

"M-Malik…" Escaped the young Briton's mouth in a whisper. "It feels nice…"

"You think so?" Malik asked quietly, the sight of Ryou's face, which was flushed with arousal, making his own member, shall we say, 'rise to the occasion'.

"Yes…" Ryou moaned. "Malik, so wonderful!"

Malik glanced over to Bakura, who nodded and came to join the game.

"My turn, hikari." The tomb robber grinned, a tube of lube appearing in his hand as he positioned Ryou so that the pale one's legs were hanging over the edge of the bed. "I can't be missing all the fun.

The tomb robber coated his fingers in the lube, and then proceeded to spread it on first his throbbing arousal, then Ryou's, bringing another moan forth from the teen. After he had finished this, the tube was flung away from him and he slipped on finger inside a very surprised Malik, who tensed automatically.

"Relax." Bakura commanded, not unkindly. "I won't hurt you."

Slowly, Ishtar began to relax, and was even to the point of welcoming the second and third fingers that were pushed inside him, whimpering slightly at the wonderful mixture of pain and pleasure.

Bakura withdrew his fingers and, clasping Malik's hips, lowered the Egyptian gently onto Ryou's now-hard member, taking it an inch at a time, lustfully drinking in the moans from both hikaris as Malik's hot entrance engulfed Ryou's aching length.

And now it was Ryou's turn. Now that Malik was sitting straddling the Briton, with the milder one deep inside him, it was time to grant Ryou the touch he had lusted for, and Bakura was well prepared to do that. All that remained was to prepare Ryou.

His first lubricated finger slipped in to Ryou's passage, and the tomb robber's yami moaned, jerking his hips slightly, which caused Malik to whimper in turn. Bakura was aware that both the others were virgin apart from rape, yet both were taking this alien intrusion incredibly well. This thought plundered his mind as his second finger invaded Ryou.

At the third finger, Ryou cried out, tensing, the pleasure caused by Malik only partly countering the pain he was experiencing from those three fingers.

"Shh… Ryou, relax, just relax…" Bakura murmured soothingly, and the Briton found himself complying, relaxing slowly, welcoming the fingers, accommodating them.

At last, Bakura withdrew his fingers and pushed his length gently in to Ryou, who tensed once or twice, but invited it on the whole, moaning in a sort of ecstasy, jerking his hips in to Malik, who cried out in surprise, his tan hands coming to grip pale flesh.

With each gentle, rhythm-tic thrust of Bakura's, Ryou's hips jolted upwards, causing both Malik and Ryou to moan in pleasure. For the inexperienced hikaris, release was soon and, inevitably, Ryou was the closest, being pleasured on both sides, as opposed to only one.

Thus it was Ryou who came first, with a loud cry, releasing his seed deep in to Malik. The sight of that flushed, blissful face, twinned with the warmth inside him, was enough to tip Malik over the edge and he climaxed with a cry of his own. And, for Bakura, the tightening of Ryou's walls around him as the white-haired hikari's muscles contracted in orgasm brought him to his own sweet release.

It was a much tired threesome that lay, entangled in the sheets which were slightly soiled by Malik's release, which smelt of all three, which had essence of sex. Only Malik, it seemed, had the energy to move, and he rose, loping over to his trousers and pulling something out.

It was a plushie cobra, obviously handmade.

"I rescued it from my house." He explained, pressing it into Ryou's hands. On closer examination, the British teen could see the red stains where blood had spattered, which were visible despite Malik's attempts to clean them away. The tail of the cobra was worn, as though it had been fondled a lot, or possibly even chewed.

"Isis made it for me." The Egyptian carried on, one hand absently moving to tug feebly at the collar, which was uncomfortably tight around his neck. "After I survived being bitten by a cobra. I want you to have it, as I sign that I love you. Both of you."

"I… I can't take this!" Ryou gasped. "It means so much to you!"

"Look at it this way." Bakura mumbled quietly, so only Ryou could hear. "It's less likely to be damaged here than it is at his house. And don't refuse a gift like that. You'll hurt his feelings."

Ryou nodded quietly, and Malik smiled, embracing him and then Bakura in turn, grinning as all three managed to say at exactly the same time:

"Love you."


	7. Chapter VII

**Chapter 7: Regrets _or_ The Ramblings of a Sick Mind.**

It wasn't normal for it to feel like this. He had always hated that stupid little fuck Ishtar – hadn't he? He had always despised the weakness that had emanated from that sickly innocent teen, right?

If that was the case… then why was Marik suffering? Why did it hurt so fucking much that Malik had turned tail and fled? It had been inevitable, the young Egyptian could never have survived more of the torture Marik had put him through, so it was only right that he had run away with people he truly loved, with people who made him happy.

And why had Marik hurt him so much in the first place? Looking back on his actions, said yami seethed in both anger and, surprisingly, what appeared to be self-loathing, or maybe just confusion. It was because Ishtar had been weak, and easy prey… but no, there had to be something deeper than that, something that made Marik want to hurt him…

The answer was back in the beginning of the yami's existence. It was hard enough to show compassion when you were made entirely out of someone else's anger and hatred anyway, but it had been made harder when Marik had attempted to make peace with his host and had murdered Malik's father. In retrospect, perhaps that had been a mistake.

But no one seemed to understand. No one knew how hard it was to cope. Every fucking day of every fucking month, when he looked out of the window, Marik would see parents with their kids, something that made him want to kill or brutally maim someone in frustration, and the nearest thing had usually been Malik. It was true, there were people in the world whose parents had died, but there was no one else who knew what it was like to just… not have parents. To just suddenly exist because someone harboured so much hatred that it could not fit all in one soul. That was depressing.

Except Marik hated to show a weakness, and depression over something that was so, in his opinion, _trivial_ was just stupid. So he had barriered himself off from others and just let his frustration show, venting it upon whoever happened to be closest at the time, whether it be the Pharaoh or Malik, both were just as convenient.

And yet… now that Malik had gone, it was like there was a void, in the house, even within the spiky-haired yami's body… that little Malik was with two other people and apparently happy with them as well. What made matters worse was that Marik had no idea why he was feeling this way.

If only… there were so many things to say 'if only' to… if only Malik hadn't given up, if only Marik hadn't pushed him so far, if only he'd been kept on a short leash, if only he could have heard those three words spoken to _him_ instead of those white-haired slags.

Marik shook his head. Why was he thinking things like that? He didn't want or need Malik to act so fucking sappy as to croon all over him. That was for weaklings and idiots, like that dolt Bakura and his stupid hikari. Those two… those two bastards! If it hadn't been for those two fucking bastards, Malik would still be here…

Shit. Every single thought seemed to lead back to Malik. And why? Because everywhere Marik turned in his ramshackle abode he saw remnants, whether it be blood smears on the wall to torn clothes, leather outfits to shackles, everything seemed to remind him of his departed hikari.

"Fuck it all, Marik, you're making it sound like he's died!" The yami yelled irately at himself, punching the wall. Hmm, self-conversing had never been a good thing and Marik knew it; neither had punching hapless inanimate objects. And what was worse was that it didn't make him feel an ounce better.

Gods… why had Ryou and Bakura poked their noses in? Why had they stolen Malik away from him? Why had Malik agreed to go?

That last one was simple; Malik had been too abused to stay.

Marik cried out in frustration, punching the wall again. Why, why was he suffering when it wasn't his fault? He was six years old, a child in the world of men, made out of someone else's hatred and still learning new emotions all the time, without any parental figure to guide him. He had made a mistake, albeit on a huge scale – would this mistake, this rift between him and his hikari last the rest of their existence?

As loath as he was to admit it, Marik suspected he might already know why he was hurting so damn much at his hikari's flight, and the thought didn't make him feel any better. Though it was a perfect excuse as to why he had victimised Malik so much. But why, why did Malik have to leave, why did those sweet three words fall from his lips to Bakura and Ryou instead of to his own yami? Marik again vented his confusion on the wall, unaware of hot tears trickling down his cheeks.

Why had he never been able to tell Malik that he loved him?

Malik, on the other hand, was ecstatic that he had left Marik's house for good, not even minding the restricting collar, as it was a small price to pay for his freedom. Unaware that his yami was crying in need for him, the young Egyptian was curled up in Bakura's arms, watching television while Ryou was at school.

Bakura had decided to take a day off shoplifting, which he had admitted to be his chosen profession, and had stayed home to make sure that Malik was healing from his wounds all right. Ryou had insisted that he was ok and had gone to school limping slightly, though Malik had bandaged his leg so the Briton had an excuse that was not quite as embarrassing as 'I was almost raped and then fucked my two boyfriends on the same day…'

Malik himself wasn't too worse for the wear – he didn't even limp as he walked around, merely giving the tiniest of winces every now and again. He had even requested going for a walk with Bakura, to which the answer was yes – just not now, because Bakura couldn't be arsed.

Yet, after persistent pleading from Malik, Bakura relented and cheerfully took the Egyptian to the park.

"I'm so glad I met you…" Malik smiled brightly as he clung on to the thief's arm while they walked the almost deserted streets to the park. Odd, it was such a nice and sunny day. "I really love you."

"And I love you too, little Ishtar…" Bakura ruffled Malik's hair up, smiling when the blonde pouted and tried to fix it.

The white-haired yami paused as he thought about the route to the park – it took them past Malik's old home, that derelict slum that now only housed that stupid psychotic Marik. Damn, Bakura hated him, how arrogant he was to do that to poor Malik and laugh, and even to try it on Ryou!

Malik fell very silent as they walked past the house, which seemed to have an element of despair around it, shrouding it like a deep fog. Bakura wrapped his arms around the teen to shield him – it had only been a day since the other had walked out, after all, Marik was probably still sore, pride dented, and would probably try and attack.

And, just as Bakura predicted, Marik was coming out. The white haired one held Malik closer as the timid teen froze in fear – but that really didn't do any good to stop Marik, who could be very persistent when his mind was set.

Roughly grabbing Malik so as to hide his own confusing feelings, Marik brought the terrified teen closer to him, and, just as Bakura was about to attack him to protect Malik, he brought a calm hand off and undid the collar, letting Malik fall to the ground and walking off with it.

"Are you all right?" Bakura asked, kneeling by the mild Egyptian, his back to Marik. So it was only Malik who saw his yami bring the collar to his lips as he walked away back to the house, disappearing inside.

"He had a change of heart?" Malik asked, raising a hand to his throat as though to check that the collar was really gone.

"Bastard was probably just playing with you again." Bakura turned to glare back at the house before leading Malik away.

Marik was anything but playing. It wasn't fair – Malik had two boyfriends and he had none… but the way he had treated Malik wasn't fair either. Was this punishment?

The yami sat in his hikari's old room, staring at the bloodstained walls, the inside of the collar still pressed to his lips. Why did it hurt so much? He was a yami, they weren't supposed to feel pain or depression, and he was most definitely feeling both – though he had simply too much pride to speak with Malik and apologise, especially when that asshole Bakura was there. Bakura always seemed to be there.

In fact, Marik had to wait at least a week before he plucked up the courage to actually go out of the house, and this made him despair as well –_ he_, of all people, was scared? But still…

He had headed to the supermarket, because he was low on pocky. And, though this was another thing he was loath to admit, he had cravings for it. Pocky and diet cola. Perhaps he should never have left that tomb…

Perhaps it was coincidental that he ran into the happy threesome in the supermarket. Perhaps it was the irony gods playing games with his life again (he was used to them doing that). After all, Malik was the one he had been trying to avoid, but once again that had been a fruitless objective.

Bakura had glared at him until he disappeared down another isle, the two hikaris behind his outstretched arms. Marik, though embarrassingly disheartened by this, watched them from a distance, waiting to catch Malik alone.

His chance came when both Ryou and Bakura went to look at clothes, leaving Malik picking up dairy produce. Marik walked quickly towards his hikari, roughly tugging him into a janitor's closet for privacy.

Malik was shaking so much with fear that the basket he was carrying was rattling against the wall of the closet. He was so surprised when Marik dug in his pocket and pressed something into his hand that he dropped the shopping all together.

"Here." The yami said curtly. "You left this at my house."

Then Marik calmly walked out of the closet as though nothing had happened, leaving Malik in the dingy light trying to work out what it was Marik had given him. If he had been holding his shopping when he figured it out, he would have dropped it again – Marik had given him the keys to the yami's motorbike!

A slow smile spread over Malik's face as he stepped out of the closet and caught a brief glimpse of his yami walking briskly away. He knew that, in his own special way, Marik was trying to apologise. Thinking about it, the hikari had never thought how his departure might affect Marik – and why should he? He had automatically assumed Marik would find someone else to torture. But… from what he had just seen, it appeared that for Marik torture appeared to be either showing or trying to hide affection. Poor Marik was undoubtedly so confused, having been made of someone else's overflowing hate and then to realise that he was in love…

Touched by the little gesture, Malik was brought back down to earth on seeing Bakura and Ryou returning.

The fact that Bakura hated Marik suddenly stung more than any whip.


	8. Chapter VIII

**Chapter 8: Misunderstanding _or_ Marik's Pain.**

"What're those for?" Ryou asked as Malik laid the keys he had been given by Marik on the table; he had hidden them in his hand for the journey home, just thinking about how strange Marik was acting at the moment.

"Marik's motorbike…" The Egyptian answered, confused. "I have to go to his place to get it. He gave them to me earlier in the supermarket when I saw him."

"You're not going." The stern answer from Bakura left no room for argument. "That sick bastard psycho is just going to hurt you, I'm not going to let you go near him."

"I know." Malik laid a hand on Bakura's arm to stop him before he really got going. "I don't want his pity gifts. I was going to give the keys back to him."

"I'll take them for you." Bakura volunteered, taking the keys from the table, again leaving no room for argument. "You stay safe with Ryou."

Marik was lying in front of his house, obviously waiting for someone; the motorbike was at rest before him. He wanted Malik to accept his most treasured possession. Somehow the thought of it eased his irrepressible grief at the other's departure.

But… then why was it Bakura storming towards him, looking peeved? Oh great, just fucking great, what had he done now? Was Malik allergic to motorbikes?

"What do _you_ want, asshole?" The tan yami asked Bakura hatefully. "The bike isn't for _you_."

"I know that, shithead." Bakura returned the insult uncaringly. "I came to give this back. Malik doesn't want it. He doesn't want things that would remind him of _you_. Just get out of his life. He hates you." And the white-haired one threw the keys at Marik, the metal chinking together softly when they bounced off Marik's chest.

Then the tomb robber turned away and left, leaving Marik staring in disbelief at the keys. It seemed like hours, though in reality it was only seconds, the amount of time he spent running gentle fingertips over the shaped metal. Why…? Malik must really loathe him, to not accept… surely, even if he didn't want the bike itself, he could sell it for the money? It was brand new – Marik had actually got a part-time job to save up for it he had wanted it so much – it would still bring a lot of cash. It must be a mark of how much Malik hated him that he would send the keys back.

Thankfully for his reputation, Marik managed to make it back inside the house, though he had a hand on the wall for support. As soon as he was in his room upstairs, he just let himself go. He didn't care that he was crying silently. He didn't care that he was holding the keys to him as though they were a lover. He wanted to die.

Damn… damn it… he had thought so earnestly that Malik would take his bike… that, knowing his hikari's tendencies towards the romantic, it would become a friendship and become a love…

Marik knew that his disengaged thought stream made him sound like the 'wimps' that he abhorred, but he had given the keys with a love of his own, and then to have them returned so coldly that Malik wouldn't come himself, just send someone else… had everything that the platinum-haired yami could give just been brushed aside worthlessly? Was that all it was, all he was – worthless?

He wanted to die.

He wanted to die so badly, to just forsake his hikari and those stupid albino prostitutes he called lovers, to forget the confusing rush of human emotion that was sweeping him away, to release all his pain… but he knew that, created by Malik, Malik would destroy him. He couldn't die until Malik died.

But the strangely comforting thought that, ultimately, Malik would be the one to kill him didn't satisfy him enough. For once he wanted to cause himself ultimate pain, to slide the cold metal of a sharp blade into his arm and drag it, what a feeling that would be… to spend the rest of his life in a coma, at least then Malik would be happy, his hikari obviously hated him so much…

The next day it was a Sunday, and time for the Bakuras (which now included Malik as an honorary member of the family) to take their trash to the tip. Malik was happy to participate, and both white-haired ones found it quite cute how he struggled with three bags, each almost as big as him, to take.

"Here, let me take one of these before you do yourself an injury." Bakura took one of the bags, leaving each of them with two.

Malik suddenly dropped one of his bags, and before either Ryou or Bakura could ask him what was wrong, he had pointed out the source of his shock: Marik was just coming out of the gates to the scrap yard. Bakura tensed, but his protectiveness was in vain; Marik just ignored them as he walked past.

"He's gotten thinner…" Malik stated once they were sure the tan yami had gone. He was actually quite concerned; contrary to what Marik so avidly believe, Malik did _not_ hate his yami, he was just saddened that the more aggressive Egyptian had felt the need to hurt him.

"Good!" Bakura snapped irately. "Maybe he'll die and do us all a favour!"

"Bakura…" Ryou shook his head. "You shouldn't say things like that, even if you're not serious. You could hurt someone."

"Oh!" Malik, who had gone on ahead to dump his bags, had stopped in shock. For, in obvious view, was Marik's beloved motorbike, in the heap of trash and scrap metal, blindingly obvious as it was the only brand new thing in the dump. The keys were on the seat, anyone could just take the bike.

"That's Marik's, isn't it…?" Ryou asked, causing Malik to give a little start; he hadn't noticed the milder Briton sneak up behind him like that. "It's a shame. It looks pretty expensive. What do you suppose is wrong with it?"

"Nothing…" Malik shook his head, unable to tear his lilac eyes away from the bike. "He only bought it a couple of days ago, he hasn't even ridden it yet, he's been saving up for it for ages since he saw it in the shop last year, he wanted it so bad he even went out and got a job to make the money for it…"

"Then why do you suppose he's dumped it?"

"Because he's an insane psycho, that's why." Bakura snorted, dumping his bags. "I don't know what sick demented game he's thinking up now, but I can tell you, I won't let it work."

Contrary to Bakura's outburst, however, Marik had probably never been more sober in his life. He knew full well what he was doing, even though it pained and even scared him, he didn't want to see what stared back at him in the mirror, he didn't want to look at Malik's handsome face and have it denied him again. That meeting at the dump had been the last straw.

He could feel the blood seeping down his fingers, down his arm, finally dripping off his elbow, but he didn't care. The pain in his head was almost unbearable now, but it was slowly dimming into numbness. The blackness that had swallowed him was terrifying.

He was crying, for the last time ever. His tears were mixed with the blood that was coming from his injured eyes. Though blindness was his greatest phobia, he hoped he would never see again. He told himself that he wanted this fear, welcomed this pain.

When he had returned to his house, Marik had sat down to think about the situation with Malik, and had driven himself into such an insane depression that, before he fully comprehended what he was doing, he was digging his fingers into his eyes, pressing hard. Stars were exploding before his vision, but he pressed harder, and harder still, until he felt the backs of his eyes break the blood vessels in the sockets, until he felt the hot liquid stream down his fingers down his cheeks to make it look like he was crying blood.

Malik would be glad, he told himself. Malik would celebrate. Malik hated him. Malik would be happy that Marik would not be able to look at him any longer.

He had thrown his bike away because he no longer wanted it. It seemed that, after it had been rejected by Malik, his obsession with saving up for it and buying it seemed pointless. It suddenly seemed worthless, not as precious to him as it once was, and this thought depressed him more. He had loved that bike, but after Malik's rejection he just came to think of it with indifference, which soon turned to dislike, and even to hatred.

So he had dumped the brand new bike, not even a week after he had bought it. It just hadn't seemed worth it any more. To him, nothing seemed to have a point any more. He had been so torn and so depressed he hadn't been able to sleep or even eat, which explained the sudden weight loss. Anything he forced himself to eat he vomited up almost immediately.

Reaching out, he found a bandage that had been conveniently close by, wrapping it loosely around where his eyes had once been to stop the bleeding, if only so he would be able to feel the pain he knew he deserved instead of fainting. On some level, Marik wondered what life without sight would be like. Luckily, he knew the house so well using his other senses, because he quite often walked around with his eyes closed; he was far too lazy to actually wake up in the mornings. Had been. Now he just didn't sleep.

"I hope you're happy now, Malik…" He murmured, though there was no malice behind the remarkably sincere words. He really did hope Malik was happy, that was the last thing he had left to hope for. It was embarrassing; he, a being made of hatred, falling victim to such human emotions. He was far too proud to actually tell Malik his feelings, far too arrogant to trust Bakura or Ryou with it – besides, he loathed Bakura. And he had no one to talk to, so his feelings stayed cooped up inside until they took him over and made him act irrationally.

He was already scared. He was blind, he would always be blind now, he had basically gouged his own eyes out. Unconsciously drawing himself into a ball and shivering, he was unwittingly becoming more like the child he really was and less like the sadistic, cruel man once known as Marik.

"Oh, please, someone help…"


	9. Chapter IX

**Chapter 9: Epilogue_ or _The Parting of The Ways.**

"Fucking asshole piece of crap!" The blind yami irately threw the toaster in a random direction, smirking when he heard the shattering of glass and then, a few seconds later, a thud. Stupid thing, served it right for daring to shoot toast into his injured eyes. And he really hadn't needed glass in that window, after all.

Blinding himself had backfired quite a bit. Originally, among the shreds of his mind that were not consumed by anger and grief at the time, he had meant it just as something to make Malik regret turning him down; he had reckoned that the All-Seeing Eye of the Sennen Items, which glowed on his forehead, would guide him. What a cop out that had been. That bloody eye didn't do a thing; it was apparently just there for decoration or to make him look stupid. He had yelled and cursed when he found out he actually was blind, but there was nothing he could do or could have done.

He had tried to appease his sadness by telling himself he would be satisfied with a couple of young boys, but it seemed paedophilia wasn't for Marik, as he had suffered an embarrassing blow to his ego after he finally caught a young boy only to realise his body didn't much feel like giving him an erection.

Not only that, but there was some crappy advert playing over and over again on the radio, making the damned thing sound like Anzu, going on about friendship and shit. Marik had never been social, let alone friendly. He quite often found that having people around him did things with his conscience, and, yes, Marik did actually have a conscience. It was just very small and quite warped, wrapped tight around his loose morals, and he found that having people messing with it really didn't help the image he had created for himself of an evil and abusive psychomaniac.

The stupid radio joined the toaster out of the window.

"Ra motherfucking damn it all!" Throwing a punch at something he couldn't see, Marik let his inexorable and infamous rage engulf him again. So what if he had let it down to try and get Malik back from those stupid white-haired bitches? Fundamental laws of physics were that a) gravity pulls you down, b) upthrust is friction against gravity and c) Marik is always pissy.

Well, to be honest, Marik couldn't be bothered any more. He was fed up of being turned into a soppy, pathetic 'loving' yami. Damn it, he was beginning to act like that stupid Pharaoh asshole, and that really was the end of the line. He hated himself even more for acting like such a weakling, dismissing it as a phase he had been going through. What had he been thinking? Had he really been so distraught because his little slave had run away?

At the moment, he no longer cared about anything, no longer cared about what Malik might think, about what effects his actions might have on other people. He cared only for himself, he knew this and told himself this over and over again, and, somehow, it made him feel better. It made him feel like that selfish, psychotic monster he knew he was deep inside, and that was a good feeling.

So, with one hand, he searched the table next to the bed blindly. He didn't want his sight back anymore; he no longer had any use for it. As his heated fingertips brushed across the cold metal, he smirked a twisted expression across his thin face, bringing what he had found to his lips so that his tongue could dart out and taste it. It was the right metal, which meant he had picked up the right thing.

Cool on his forehead and somehow relaxing as he pressed it to his skin, the hard angular contraption seemed almost to melt around his fingers enticingly, pulling him in. Grinning inanely, he let himself run his other hand along it, feeling the jagged contours of the shaft, the deep cavern of the barrel, the smooth texture of the handle.

As he pulled the trigger, the loud shot deafened him, ringing through his mind as though it was repeated on a scratched CD, echoing over and over again, still somehow relaxing. As a being not alive, he could not die, and that was why he consciously felt the single bullet leave the revolver, pass straight through his skull and lodge deep within. Right between his eyes.

Laughing and crying both at the same time, pain searing through his entire body, Marik reflexively spun the barrel and pulled the trigger again and again, discharging no less than four of the heavy metal shots into his head before he hurled the gun across the room and collapsed in the middle, consciousness lost, blood mixing with grey cranial matter as it seeped across the uncarpeted floor from the holes in his head.

And as he indirectly died, he was the happiest he ever had been.

* * *

His body wasn't found until three or four days later, when he was rushed to hospital and his status checked. It was a miracle, the doctors said amongst themselves, that he was still alive.

A landowner from the council was dispatched to where the authorities knew Malik to be staying, the house of Ryou and Bakura. As Marik was no longer capable of living his rundown property, the council wanted to reclaim it and build a small office block on the land after demolition, but as the rightful owner of the house now Marik was incapacitated, Malik had to sign the documents selling the land.

"What do you mean incapacitated?" Bakura demanded as Ryou helped Malik fill in the form that would entitle him to the money raised by selling the land. "How the hell could someone incapacitate Marik?"

"It appears that someone entered through the door and shot him four times over in the head before he could react, sirs." The authority representative answered. "There are no signs of struggle, so it could always be attempted suicide. Ishtar-san survived, but barely; he is in a state of suspended animation – a coma, and though his condition his stable, he does not wake up. The doctors are at a loss as to what should be done. I am sorry, gentlemen."

"Take your condescending pity and go fuck yourself with it!" Bakura snapped, annoyed at the carefree manner the official used while speaking of Marik's decease. "Asshole. Have your crappy permission slip or whatever it is. Come on."

This last was to Ryou and Malik, who were each taken by the hand, Bakura tugging them gently towards the hospital, Malik appearing to be in a state of shock.

"Do you think he'll be ok, Kura?" Ryou asked softly so the Egyptian would not hear. "I'm worried, he shouldn't be so upset over Marik… I know Malik's got a big heart and all, but I really am worried."

"He'll be fine." Was the only answer Bakura offered.

* * *

Ryou hated hospitals; he had done ever since his mother and his little sister Amane had died in a car accident several years before. The unnatural white of the wards seemed to make him panic every time he saw them, but for some reason today he didn't feel like panicking. Perhaps he was as subdued as Malik, though he certainly hadn't felt any attraction for the milder Egyptian's controlling yami.

Somehow, however, as Malik sat sobbing by the comatose Marik's bedside, clutching the other's hands in both of his and rubbing it desperately as though to bring some of the life back into it, he felt as though Marik had actually been human. A human misunderstood, perhaps? No, Marik had displayed himself as a monster all the time, even though Malik was so frantically trying to bring him back to life.

"Are you ok?" The Briton asked as Malik finally gave up and just turned into him, drawing the paler one into his arms tightly. Ryou knew far too well how Malik's psychology was made up. He was blaming himself for this. "It's not your fault, you know. Marik had a choice and he chose to. You weren't the one holding the gun."

"But I gave his bike back, I must have hurt him!" The stubborn Malik insisted, weeping softly still. "If I hadn't, he'd still be here…"

"Malik, please listen. He's far safer like this. He's alive and there's a chance he'll wake up, and in the meantime he can't be hurt or hurt anyone else." Ryou insisted, trying to calm the other. "Please listen to me, it wasn't your fault and even if it was, Bakura and I would still love you, please tell me you understand this?"

After a while longer of such coaxing, Malik finally relaxed, brushing Marik's pale forehead briefly with one hand and then leaving the ward with Ryou, who had suggested going to a café to get a drink and mull things over. Hopefully that at least would calm Malik down some more.

Fully agreeing, Bakura was the one who stayed in the small private ward, getting up and locking the door as soon as the two lights had departed. Not about to get weepy over nothing, but reviewing the situation, he could understand exactly why Marik had acted so drastically. Thinking about it, he knew he would have done the same if in that same situation.

"You're an asshole, aren't you?" He murmured softly to the comatose figure on the bed. "You didn't do it to escape from sadness. That's probably what they believe but I know different. You wanted Malik to feel guilty and to say that he loved you. What would you do if he had done, miraculously regain consciousness? You're as transparent as glass."

If he would not be a hypocrite by feeling so, Bakura would have been disgusted by the intentions behind the suicide, but it was a purely dark thing to do. The only person who could truly understand the makeup of yami psychology was another yami, and that was precisely what Bakura and Marik were in relation to each other. What was transparent to Bakura was as clear as mud in the eyes of the hikaris, and that was Marik's reasoning.

Finding himself taking up the hand that Malik had dropped, Bakura mulled over his thoughts as he sat in the silent, ungodly white room with the unconscious Egyptian. He reassured himself that Marik was not dead, therefore there was a chance he would regain consciousness. Perhaps then they would be able to have a lengthy discussion which did not result in one attacking the other. Perhaps then Bakura would be able to sort his confusion out. That was if, and only if, the minute chance that Marik would wake up became a reality.

Meditating as he was, and stroking Marik's hand at the same time, Bakura realised with a morbid humour that there was perhaps some truth in that old saying he had heard so often before. Perhaps when Marik awoke, he would be able to sort it out, no longer feeling like a third wheel in the Ryou and Malik relationship. With him being the only person who would understand Marik, it seemed natural that, if he should ever wake up, they would patch up their shaky relationship. In Bakura's mind, it all worked out.

After all, two's company, while three's a crowd.


End file.
